


The Burden

by cajunquandary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cajunquandary/pseuds/cajunquandary
Summary: The reader leaves the bunker looking for trouble.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 1





	The Burden

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble was created for @atc74 Angelina’s Collab Challenge Contest with the prompt: “You’re part of the family now, don’t ever think you’re not.” Thank you for hosting!

Early January snow blanketed your body, barely illuminated by the moon’s reflection on the blacktop. Well beyond shivering, slumber creeped over and threatened to extinguish the last flame of life remaining within you. After everything, would death be so bad? The moon swelled to fill your fading vision and you prepared to meet your reaper.

You instinctively reach down to rub the nearly indiscernible scars you wear like bracelets. The old leather-back book of lore has lost your attention as you remember back to the night the Winchesters pulled you from the frozen earth, bound in blood-soaked ropes with proof of torture written upon your skin like wicked poetry.

Hushed, urgent voices in the war room pull your attention from the nightmare of your past. You hope that you aren’t yet again the cause of disagreement, but upon listening closer, you hear snippets and piece them together—of course you’re a burden. You set the neglected book back on the table and stand up, the heaviness in your chest upsetting your balance. As quietly as you can manage, you slip on your beanie and coat and trek up the staircase and out the door.

The night is cool, but not enough to chill your bones. You breathe in the fresh air as deeply as your lungs allow, but upon release, cascading tears follow. Your feet move faster with each moment, carrying you swiftly to the nearby rathole of a bar.

By the time you reach the door, your breathing has calmed and your face dried by the evening breeze. The place is warm and packed. You elbow your way up to the counter and flag the familiar bartender. In moments, he sets the deep glass of iced whiskey—three fingers worth—in your hand, trading it for some folded bills. You make quick work of the beverage, flipping it upside down on a small black napkin when empty. The crowd has gotten even rowdier. You grimace at the din and pull away from the counter, much less steady than when you’d approached.

A stray elbow finds its way rudely into your side. Instinctively, you turn and tense towards its owner. The burley lady returns your grimace and spits in your direction, laughing and pointing along with her much larger male counterparts, all clad in dingy leather.

Fine, you think. You want a fight, bring it.

You avert your eyes but land a swift punch to her nose before she can react. While her posse processes what just happened, you’ve already got one on his knees after a targeted kick and another on the floor after sweeping your leg underneath his.

The place erupts with limbs flying, mugs smashing into the wood floor and angry shouting filling thick smoke-laden air. You are outnumbered though, and before you get another chance to land a hit, a third man scoops you up from behind by the neck and attempts to squeeze the life from you. Rather haphazardly, you manage to flip yourself up and over his shoulders, forcing his grip to loosen. Straddling the hunched man’s back, you grab the nearest beer bottle and smash it into his temple, felling him instantly.

Two more replace him, restraining your arms, and a third saunters up, impish grin spreading across his dirty face. Unable to fight back, you take his punches over and over until you feel the urge to either puke or pass out.

As the world around closes in, there’s a break in the throng. Dean and Sam emerge and take down the mob with little effort. Sam yells above the ruckus to cease, voice booming and catching everyone’s attention. The brothers are well-known in these parts, so the patrons disperse.

Dean’s full attention is on you. “What the hell were you thinking?” He holds your bruised, weak frame up by your shoulders, pulling you into him tightly.

You moan against the pain of the wounds and the fact that the boys have come to rescue you again. You can’t stand to be another of their burdens when they already carry worlds on their shoulders.

Dean can’t even speak, a tear rolling down his face. The whiskey still warming your insides spoke for you. Sam pulls you both in close for a moment before lifting your chin to look him in the eye. “What do you mean, ‘burden’?” He asked, worry written all over his face. “You’re part of the family now, don’t ever think you’re not.”

Maybe after tonight, you’ll believe it.


End file.
